


Delegate Some Tasks, Tony, Please

by taylor_tut



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Overworking, Protective Avengers, Protective Peter Parker, Sick Character, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 15:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14572308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A request from my tumblr: Tony has too many tasks he's trying to balance that when he gets sick, it feels like he's dropping the ball on a lot of things. Turns out, his friends are nicer than he expects anyone to be to him.





	Delegate Some Tasks, Tony, Please

This always happened at the worst times. Why couldn’t Tony get sick at the beginnings of deadlines, while he could still push them back?

Presently, he was expected to show all his finished products to the rest of the Avengers in just over an hour. Some of them could wait, sure. The upgrades to the comms could sit for a few days, since the old ones worked just fine. Peter’s suit was only getting new and exciting weapons put in, and though he dreaded the kicked-puppy look he would get in response to disappointing him, he could take it if it meant an extra few hours of sleep. And Bruce--what was Bruce even waiting on? Hell, if he couldn’t even remember, it couldn’t be that important, right?

But a few things couldn’t wait at all. Clint’s new GPS tracking traps needed to be up and running before he left for his mission to Belize tomorrow, and Natasha’s comm had been smashed and needed fixing urgently. 

Hand to God, if Fury walked in right now and asked which project his cold-shaking hands were holding at this very moment, Tony wouldn’t have been able to tell him. He’d been shivering constantly for the past hour and a half despite FRIDAY elevating the temperature in the lab every time he asked, and he’d finally even caved and covered himself in a blanket, something that would usually be too constricting to wear while he was working. A minute, he thought, to rest his eyes and his aching neck, could be spared, so Tony allowed his head to fall onto his crossed arms on the table and closed his eyes.

“Boss?” FRIDAY prompted quietly, “Peter Parker is at the door.”

Tony picked his head up from the table and blinked. “Pete’s--is he early?”

“Only marginally,” she replied. “The rest of the Avengers should be arriving within the next fifteen minutes.” She paused, almost amused. “Twenty-five, given that Agent Barton is expected.”

While normally Tony would have laughed at something like that, instead, he began to panic. Clint would be here in less than half an hour and--had he really slept for an hour? Why didn’t he feel any less tired?--and his tech was nowhere near complete. Nat would be here in even less time than that, and hers was still broken, too. Shit. 

“Might I suggest allowing Mr. Parker to assist you?” FRIDAY asked. “Or, of course, alerting the team to your physical state--”

“--No,” Tony cut her off, “but--yes. Pete. Send Pete down. Don’t tell him anything, but I need--he can help.”

FRIDAY understood the sentiment of the garbled sentence and opened the door for Peter. 

“Thanks, FRIDAY,” Peter smiled. No matter how many times the others told him he didn’t have to thank the AI, Peter and Steve couldn’t break the habit. “Where is Mr. Stark having us meet?” Tony usually liked to make a show of these sorts of things, and tended to gather them in a conference room. 

“Actually, the boss is still in the lab finishing things up,” she replied. “He’s asked that you assist him.”

That was more than a little surprising to Peter, but he nodded. “Sure,” he said, “I can do that.”

When Peter got down to the basement, his eyes widened. 

“Erm… Mr. Stark?” he called. Papers were strewn about all over the place, and every computer monitor seemed to be displaying a different program, not to mention the fact that half-at-best finished projects rested on every workbench. Parts of things scattered the floor, more of them gathered at the sides, implying that Tony had thrown them in frustration.

Tony startled, his chin slipping from where it was resting on his palm. Had he fallen asleep again?

“Pete,” Tony greeted, a relieved breath, “great; you’re here. I’m so--I don’t even know how I got so behind.”

Peter frowned. “Can I give you a hand?” he asked. “You seem… frazzled.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky sigh. “Not even the word for it,” he admitted. 

If he were being completely honest, Peter was getting a little freaked out. He’d never seen Tony in such a state. Tony usually had no problem dismissing anyone who enforced strict deadlines on him, and even above that, he usually finished projects well before anyone expected them done, anyway. Not to mention, Tony had been at about this level of completion of each of these things, he realized as he looked over each one carefully, when he’d left on Friday, and now it was Thursday (Tony had given Peter the week off for final exams, but he’d taken his last one that morning, thank God.)

Peter really didn’t know what to tell Tony, but none of these projects were done enough to be finished before their new parents came to pick them up in ten minutes. These weren’t finishing touches and bows on packages--huge adjustments needed to be made to each of the works in front of him. 

“Mr. Stark, why don’t you just tell Fury that you need more time?” he suggested. Tony sent him a piercing glare. “N-not that I’m trying to tell you what to do or anything,” Peter backtracked, “but I’m… I really don’t think that you and I can finish these in the time you’ve got left.”

Tony shook his head, clearly not accepting that answer, and looking almost desperately stressed. His face was pale with worry, and he’d clearly been down in his overly warm lab (seriously, why was it so hot? Tony usually kept it freezing) for long enough to begin sweating and gain a reddish hue to his cheeks. 

“Because ‘I didn’t finish’ isn’t an option,” Tony bit. “Nat needs her comm link, like, yesterday, and Clint can’t go to Belize without his…” he trailed off and pressed a hand over his eyes, pointing to the table with the other, “that thing.”

“Mr. Stark, are you okay?” Peter asked. He seemed barely lucid, able to connect only fragments of sentences and having alarmingly little knowledge of any of the projects he’d clearly been pouring himself into for the past six days. “You seem really out of it. How long has it been since you slept?”

Tony shook his head, then reached out for the counter to steady himself. “Just need coffee,” he deflected. “Come on, kid; you’re a genius. Genius up this stuff and help me get it done.”

Peter bit his lower lip, but couldn’t bring himself to disappoint Tony. “Okay,” he conceded, “we can do our best. You just--sit down, okay?” He knew he wasn’t going to be able to focus with Tony wobbling around on unsteady feet as he was, and there were a good number of things in the lab that might explode if he staggered into them hard enough. 

“Can’t sit,” Tony argued. He inhaled, a wheezy, high-pitched whistle ushering the air into his lungs, and coughed sharply. Okay, so maybe this problem was bigger than just poor time-management skills. 

Before Peter could investigate further, FRIDAY spoke up again. “Mr. Stark, Mr. Parker,” she called, “Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, and Bruce Banner are at the door.”

Tony cursed, rubbing his hands over his face exhaustedly. Peter was at his side in an instant, grabbing his arm in a supportive gesture, familiar in one sense, but which felt strange when Peter was the one initiating it. 

“Hey,” Peter reassured quietly, “there’s nothing that can be done now, right? How about we just go upstairs and explain what happened. I’m sure no one’s gonna be mad.” 

Tony took a deep breath and brushed Peter off his arm, irritably and silently heading for the elevator. He leaned against the wall for the whole ride, closing his eyes, and Peter decided that the pallor was definitely not anxiety and the flush wasn’t from a warm lab. However, as much as he could practically feel fever radiating from Tony, Peter could DEFINITELY feel “don’t ask any more fucking questions” vibes radiating from Tony, so he kept quiet. The Avengers were Tony’s closest friends, after all. They’d know what to do. 

“Tony,” Bruce greeted happily, “good to see you.”

Tony forced a smile. “You too, Brucey,” he strained. “How was… your trip?” It didn’t escape Peter’s notice that Tony had forgotten where Bruce had gone, but if he hadn’t already known something was wrong, he might have written it off as distracted excitement, so he didn’t say anything. 

As Bruce, Tony, and Natasha caught up, Tony seemed to lose steam. He his posture was sagging, and it was seemingly difficult for him to even keep his eyes open. The others didn’t seem to notice, though it seemed obvious to Peter even as he remained standoffish on the sidelines.

“Peter,” Steve said with a smile, “how’s school going?”

Before Peter could reply, Tony was swaying forward into Natasha.

“Woah, hey,” she startled, steadying him by his elbows.

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed, “got a lil’ dizzy.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately. “Knowing you, you’ve been awake for days,” she accused. “Come on, let’s get started with the big reveal.”

Bruce frowned. “But Clint’s not here yet.”

Natasha looked at the door just before Clint threw it open and Peter’s jaw dropped. 

“It’s like she’s got ESPN or something,” he whispered, and Clint clambered toward the group with a Starbucks cup in his hand.

“Sorry I’m late,” he apologized, “but I didn’t want to come.”

“Now that we’re all here,” Steve took charge, “should we proceed to your conference room?”

Tony looked pointedly down at his feet. “Uh, no,” he said simply, trying to find the words for what he wanted to say. “I don’t--uh, I just need--” 

“--I think what Mr. Stark means to say,” Peter intervened, “is that he needs a few more days on the projects.”

Steve shrugged. “Okay, which ones?”

“All… all of them,” Tony admitted.

Clint frowned. “Seriously, Stark?” he whined, “come on! You had like a month to do this, and I’m leaving tomorrow. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Tony ran a hand through his hair and blinked slowly, his eyes looking glassy and unfocused.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I just… I had it… I meant to.”

“What if there’s a call to assemble?” Steve demanded. “What’s Widow supposed to do without a comm?”

He shook his head and his breathing picked up. Peter could hear the rasp in it from his place next to him, so he knew that it had to be obvious to at least Steve, with his serum-enhanced hearing. 

Tony coughed twice sharply. “I’m sorry,” he said again, swallowing hard and swaying once more. 

Peter wanted to shout, but it wasn’t his place. He was young, he was the least experienced, he needed to be respectful to the elders. But God, how were his supposed friends so blind? Tony was clearly struggling past just guilt and anxiety. 

“This isn’t just something you can apologize away, Tony,” Steve chastised. “This has serious ramifications on your teammates, and needs to have serious consequences for you, too.”

Tony tugged at the collar of his T-shirt. “I know,” he agreed, “can--break? Can we break?” 

Bruce looked slightly taken aback. Docile wasn’t on the long list of things Tony could be, and to see him cower under the stern look of Steve Rogers of all people was unusual.

“Tony, why didn’t you get these projects done?” he asked gently. The guy at least deserved a chance to explain himself.

But instead of doing that, Tony shook his head. 

“I--don’t…” He didn’t speak again for a long moment, swallowing consistently and swaying again, this time much more dangerously. “What was’sa question?” 

Peter yelped as Tony tilted backward, his knees giving out under him. Instantly, Clint was helping to lower him to the floor. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, fanning his face like a fainted Victorian woman. “Can you hear me?” 

Tony groaned, trying his best to sit up despite Clint pulling him back down.

“Just stay lying down a second,” he demanded, the still-clearly-annoyed tone undercut with concern and confusion. “What devastating amount of caffeine is failing to keep you conscious right now?” 

Tony looked confused. “Oh, coffee,” he deduced, “should… probably drink something.”

“The boss hasn’t ingested any liquid in several hours,” FRIDAY offered, “which, in combination with the fever, is severely dehydrating him.”

Steve dropped to one knee beside the others. “Fever?” he asked, looking up to the ceiling, a habit he couldn’t break. “What fever?”

The AI waited for Tony to confess, but he didn’t. Instead, he covered his face with his hands and took a shivery breath. 

“I think Mr. Stark is sick,” Peter said. “He seems really out of it, and he’s been kind of… emotional today.”

Steve pressed a hand to Tony’s forehead and his eyes went wide. 

“That’s really bad,” he muttered, “FRIDAY, please call an ambulance?” 

Shit, Peter hadn’t known it was THAT bad. Still, he berated himself, he should have told someone sooner. He should have gotten Tony medical attention; if something happened to him, it would be all his--

“Peter,” Natasha interrupted his spiraling thoughts, “Stark is like this. No matter how bad it got, he’d still be mad if you said anything.”

She totally had ESPN or something. 

“I guess,” Peter admitted, “still, I should have--”

“Kid,” Tony cut him off. That was all he needed to hear.

“Tony,” Clint said gently, “look, I’m sorry I yelled at you about the GPS. If I’d have known you were sick--”

“--It’s not your fault,” Tony said.

“Damn right it’s not my fault,” Clint agreed, “it’s yours. You should have said something. When you get so many things on your plate and start to feel yourself crashing, you need to stop, not bulldoze through it.”

Tony nodded. He was still shivering, so Bruce took the mostly-decorative blanket from the couch and draped it over him. 

“The ambulance should arrive shortly,” FRIDAY informed. 

“Thank you,” Steve and Peter said simultaneously. 

Before Tony could relax, he met Clint’s eyes guiltily. “I still di’n’t finish y’r stuff,” he reminded.

“You’ve still got the blueprints for it, right?” Peter verified. “I can finish it up.”

“And I know enough about the comms to repair Tasha’s,” Bruce added. 

“You’re sure?” Tony asked, looking directly at Peter. He nodded. “Even with finals?”

“Finished them,” Peter reassured. “Just relax, please, Mr. Stark? Just let someone else take care of something for once.”

Tony nodded, mostly because he didn’t have another choice.

“When you’re out of hospital, we’re having a serious talk,” Steve warned.

“Breaking up with me?” Tony smirked, and as weird as it was, it took some of the nervous energy out of the room. 

“Glad to see your wit is more durable than your body,” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

Tony fell asleep with a cheeky smile still on his face. 


End file.
